Breaking the getting worse cycle
by GwenCThompson
Summary: She's different after her Dad dies. It's to be expected, of course, but James still hates it. "So... this is supposed to help me not be so angry, right?" He tilts his head to one side. "Yeah… I mean, worth a shot, yeah?" ONE-SHOT. COMPLETE.


She's different after her Dad dies. It's to be expected, of course, but James still hates it. He hates the way she doesn't eat for two weeks. He hates the way he has to drag her to Madame Pomfrey after she faints in the middle of class. He hates the way she stays in bed, refusing all visitors for another week. They were friends, weren't they? They'd made so much headway in the eight months since OWLs. And he knows it's to be expected, but James still hates it.

He'd been there when she found out. She'd grasped his hand so tightly he swore it would fall off. She'd silently, blankly, allowed him to Side-Along her to London. She'd silently, blankly took in the sight of the green Dark Mark lighting up the sky and the dozens of Ministry workers milling about. She'd silently, blankly, identified her Father among the dead before silently, blankly, returning to Hogwarts – still hand in hand with James.

At first she maintains the silent blankness. She still reads the Prophet, still listens to him rant about Voldemort and how the Ministry is doing nothing. But she doesn't react. She doesn't even frown. She's given up, it's a lost weeks later, when she finally, finally, allows him to visit her in the hospital wing, she breaks and cries. He holds her, tells her it isn't her fault and that she should save the blame for the ones who actually committed the crime. Green eyes meet hazel and he watches as she changes again. James isn't sure, but he thinks he hates this change even more.

Passion becomes obsession. Anger becomes wrath. Disapproval becomes hatred. Defense becomes attack.

* * *

"Give me a reason, Avery. I dare you to give me half a reason."

James and Lily have six Slytherins at wand point. No one else is around. James doesn't like their chances. Lily doesn't seem to notice. James watches in abject horror as Avery takes the bait.

"Filthy mudblo…"

She moves faster than lightning, twisting and turning and tossing hexes and curses like she's a seasoned warrior. Her skirts fly about her knees and her scarlet braid whips through the air with an audible snap and her green eyes are bright with loathing and her grin is far too satisfied with her handiwork. Entranced by her goddess-like fury, at once glorious and frightening, James merely watches as she reduces their opponents to jelly. And she doesn't stop. She just won't stop intermittently screaming jinxes and four lettered insults at them. Coming to his senses, James grabs her hand and pockets her wand.

"Lily, Lily, stop this, cut it out! They're down, let's go get McGonagall."

She purses her lips, clearly annoyed that he stepped in, but nods. "Alright then."

From her place prostrate on the ground, a heavily scarred Andrea Rosier glares up at her. "Crazy bitch! I fight cleaner than that, you're no better than any of us."

And the smile, the slightly mad upturning of her perfect mouth that graces his Lily's face tears his heart in two. "Glad you finally caught on, Drea. And for the record, I never claimed to be better."

And it kills him that she's changed so much. It kills him that his perfect, wonderful Lily, who had always been Love Incarnate – who had stuck it out with her evil childhood friend, who had never spoken a word against anyone, who had helped her drunk friend find her way to bed even after Lily had caught Mary snogging Lily's own boyfriend, who always forgave and forgot and who had even given him, the arrogant toerag a second chance – had succumbed to the corruption that surrounded her.

* * *

"This is ridiculous James."

He doesn't say so, but it kind of is. Here she is, in his house, over Easter hols, of her own free will, staring at a blank canvas and an array of paints and pastels that he had purchased for her, with Moony's guidance, only yesterday. So yes it is rather ridiculous, but that doesn't mean he's any less serious.

She glances at him, "Oh come on, James. I'm not doing this."

"You need an outlet, a positive one."

"And who made you my therapist?"

"Well since you wouldn't speak to the one Madame Pomfrey recommended..."

Her eyes narrow. "Is that what this is about?"

James just looks at her. They don't need words, not really.

She shakes her head and walks toward the door. "I'm not doing this. Thanks for inviting me over, James, but I think I'll be on my way."

He can't help but smirk when she tries the door only to find it locked. "James…"

He throws an arm around her shoulder. "Sorry, Red, but the only way you're getting out of here is if I see those mad painting skills I've heard about."

She allows him to bring her back to the easel but rolls her pretty eyes. "I don't even like painting."

"That's not what Marlene told me."

"Yeah, well, Marlene doesn't know everything. Besides, I was never any good and I haven't picked up a brush since third year so…"

"So if you wait any longer you'll just get rustier. Now is the only time you have to start improving and break the… getting worse cycle." He thrusts a brush into her hands.

"The 'getting worse cycle?'"

He nods. She sighs and dips the brush into a puddle of crimson paint. She makes a shapeless blob on the pristine canvas and frowns.

"James... this is supposed to help me not be so angry, right?"

He tilts his head to one side. "Yeah… I mean, worth a shot, yeah?"

She nods and he internally heaves a sigh of relief. So she has noticed her change in attitude and it seems like she likes it even less than he.

"Only one problem."

"Yeah, Red, what's that?"

"When I'm angry… though I suppose livid is a better word. When I'm livid, all I want is to destroy something. But art… I mean, I don't like chaotic art nor am I any good at it. I have to make something structured and beautiful."

"Well," James replied slowly, "I guess that's the point, right? Taking your destructive feelings and then making something constructive. Taking your hate – a destructive force – and turning it into love – a creative force."

"Now you're getting all philosophical on me. I barely understood a word of that, Potter."

He groans. "Just paint Evans, it might help you feel better and it will hopefully heal your broken heart."

She sighs and looks out the large windows of his private parlor into the large gardens outside. "I don't know what to paint."

"Something happy." James prompts. "Something that makes you feel even the tiniest bit happy."

She closes her eyes and breathes deep, her chest rising and falling in an steady, patterned rhythm. Eventually her mouth turns up in a small, but joyful, smile and she opens her eyes. She looks at him. "This might be boring to watch."

James shrugs. "I'll be fine."

She nods, sets down the brush, picks up a pencil and begins to sketch.

She spends an entire week at Potter Manor. Each morning she spends with Marlene and the Marauders and sometimes Mary or Markus and Lisa. Each afternoon she spends in James' parlor, mixing colors, murmuring to herself, making long, steady brushstrokes, and using her left pinky to smear the edges and add details. James is sometimes there, offering her tea and biscuits, reading, plotting Quidditch strategies, or just watching her. By the Saturday before Easter, when she's due to leave for her sister's house, the painting is finished. She shows him the final project.

It's a beach at sunset, there are a few black silhouettes lazing on the golden sand with several others on broomsticks flying above them. He looks at her, waiting for an interpretation.

"It's the thought that keeps me happy, even though it'll never happen. We're at the shore, the place my Grandparents would take us each July. On the beach are my Mum and Dad, grandparents and sister. In the air is me, with all my friends. We're together and there are no secrets, no jealousies, and no misunderstandings… life as it should be."

He nods. She turns to leave, painting still in hand. "Lily…"

"Yes James?"

"Am I… am I one of the ones in the air?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Unless you're allergic to brooms in my perfect world… though that could be nice. I wouldn't have to listen to your constant prattle about how you're the greatest chaser ever to grace Hogwart's pitch and how…"

He cuts her off, but they're both grinning stupidly now. "Alright, alright. Thanks for coming Lily."

She smiles. "Thanks for inviting me. I really did enjoy myself and it was better than two weeks with Petunia and the boyfriend from hell."

James nodded. "Glad to know Potter Manor outranks Vermin and the Beast."

"Only by a hair."

he rolls his eyes. "See you at school."

"Yeah, see you."

* * *

Things aren't perfect. She's still changed, but she's better than before. One glance from him, or any of her friends really, and she'll take a deep breath and control herself. Nine times out of ten, if she's not in the library or the common room on breaks, she's out by the lake, canvas and paints in hand, creating another work of art. It gets to the point where there are so many, she starts giving them as gifts.

Dumbledore gets a depiction a Phoenix that later graces the Order's headquarters. Lily paints Marlene a colorful picture of gypsies dancing around a roaring bonfire. On his birthday Remus receives a painting of Hogwarts castle. Even Sirius manages to secure one, a large shaggy black dog sunning itself on a rock. She refuses to take requests and even stops talking to Peter and Mary for a week when they start badgering her about her talent but still she paints. And James watches, happily, and yes, a bit smugly, as her temperament changes from wrath to love once more.

When they part ways at the King's Cross in June, swearing to meet up at Diagon Alley sometime over the summer, Lily surprises him by taking him aside giving him a packaged canvas.

"This one's a tad embarrassing, so please don't open it here."

James scoffs. Of course he's going to open it here. She bites her perfect bottom lip, the one he still wants so badly to kiss, and he rips away the brown paper packaging. He can't help it, he gasps.

It's a clearing in a wood at night. Dark clouds cover the moon and stars and the only light in the painting comes from two luminous forms: a white glowing stag, standing tall and proud, it's head bent to press against the lifted nose of gleaming white doe.

He looks at Lily, her face is bright red and she's picking at her fingernails. "I started this one right after Defense class, the day we conjured our patronuses, so no, it's not a coincidence." She looks up and hugs him tightly. "Thank you, James, for helping me when no one else could."

"You would have done the same for me." He tells her honestly.

She just holds him tighter. "Still, you helped me become the person I'm supposed to be again."

He squeezes her one last time and they break apart, both of them red on the face and unshed tears welling in their eyes. "See you, James."

"See you, Lily."

* * *

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything it entails belongs to JKR**


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